


Hard Drive

by Era_Penn, Hawkwind1980



Series: Recalibration, Pacifiers, and Other Family Matters [1]
Category: Age of Ultron - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, AoU Compliant, F/M, Fix-It, Grief, Grieving, Hawkeye's family, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Child Abuse, Insecure Tony, Insecurity, Panic Attack, Prompt Fill, Rules, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Needs a Hug, but it gets better, mama hawkeye, self-hate, some abuse of canon, temporary canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkwind1980/pseuds/Hawkwind1980
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything - after Ultron, after he blew a whole city out of the sky, after having a witch wrench his worst fears from him and use them to turn him into a monster -</p><p>After everything, Tony went home.</p><p>(He never expected a miracle quite like this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllipsisObsessed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllipsisObsessed/gifts).



> I will post the original prompt at the end - I don't want to spoil anything.
> 
> Angst. Lots of it.
> 
> Thanks to Hawkwind1980, s/he was in group chat for most of the hours and hours and hours I spent working on this helping me brainstorm and expand and such, and a lot of her ideas translated straight into the fic. :D S/he really is basically a co-author on this one not just a beta.

After everything - after Ultron, after he blew a whole city out of the sky, after having a witch wrench his worst fears from him and use them to turn him into a monster -

After everything, Tony went home. He couldn’t stay with the Avengers after almost destroying them. He arrived to darkness. The Tower was silent. He was alone. This wasn’t unusual - there’s nothing odd about Tony’s loneliness. It is the oldest friend he has, the creepy one that has stalked him since somewhere in the vicinity of his third birthday, whispering emotional abuse in the dark hours of the night, and sometimes under the harsh light of day.

His footsteps slapped noisily against the ground of the penthouse, crunching through broken glass. The sounds echoed, in the cavernous, hollow space. He vaguely registered that it was a good thing he rarely bothered to take his shoes off, a habit he’s developed after decades of working in hazardous laboratories and workshops. Really, they only come off when (if) he sleeps.

The lights did not turn on as he walked down the long, empty hallways or through vacant rooms. Jarvis did not welcome him home. There was no greeting, no sarcastic quip. Because Jarvis was dead, and it was Tony’s fault. He was so consumed by his own curiosity and arrogance that his actions lead directly to the destruction of his greatest creation, his _child_.

The fact that he was _afraid_ had no bearing on the situation at all. Stark men were supposed to be made of stronger stuff. Iron. Steel. The elements themselves. Stark men were not afraid. Tony was not afraid.

Tony didn’t cry when he recognized the inevitable. He was alone again, and that was okay, he decided. At least he wouldn’t hurt anyone else this way. He could take care of himself just fine.

* * *

The first day, Tony still hadn’t realized Jarvis was gone, not really. He called for the holograms in the workshop to be opened, and no response came. Tony expected to be reminded to eat and wasn’t.

“Jarvis, pull up the…” he trailed away. No one pulled up the hologram he wanted. No one anticipated the request inherent to the trailing away.

The silence was the most overwhelming factor. Static in his ears, like his brain turned into a shitty radio transmitter. He heard echoes, though, of British words. By noon, he pulled up the shredded remains of Jarvis’ beautiful, self-made coding and systems. The desolate remains left behind twitched and spasmed, broken gears trying (failing) to turn. The silence and the fuzziness twitched with them. 

Tony started trying to put the pieces back together by three o’clock, and he gave up by midnight. Jarvis made too much of himself for Tony to ever recreate him properly.

* * *

The second day, Tony extended Friday’s network. She’d been working with Pepper, but Tony needed an AI in the workshop to help maneuver the technologies most effectively. To work.

With Jarvis gone, what was left but to work? 

It would help if he had any idea what to work on. SI R&D had things well under control, and the Avengers -

The Avengers, he assumed, wouldn’t want anything to do with him for a very long time. They probably didn’t even want his tech anymore. Unsurprising. He’d single-handedly caused a potentially world-ending incident just by running _simulations_ with weird alien tech to try and work on creating peace. Bruce, well, Tony had talked much more reluctant into much worse schemes, so Bruce could hardly be blamed. Besides, the man who was the Hulk had dropped off the grid. Steve had been requisitioning tech from the newly upgraded SHIELD, so the rest of the team was probably following his lead. 

Yeah, staying out of their way was probably for the best.

Much as Tony hated to admit it, even to himself, he’d always needed them much, much more than they needed him.

* * *

After that, he loses track of the days, but he knows at some point he started talking to himself just to break the endless, all-encompassing silence.

* * *

After a week, Clint called. “Hey,” the archer asked, “We’ve got a problem with some rogue alien robots. You in?”

“That’s inadvisable, boss.”

Friday. A reminder of exactly what he’d lost. A brutal one. Tony considered the empty workshop. He could almost hear Jarvis berating him. In no shape to fight, his ass. Just because he hadn’t eaten or slept in three days -

“You haven’t what!? Tony -”

“Oh, I said that aloud,” Tony said. Whatever.

“Okay, no. You’re sitting this one out, and I’m coming over after.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Obviously you’re not! Don’t you pay someone to keep you fed and watered or something?”

“Or something,” Tony said, staring at the hologram of Jarvis’ destroyed systems. Broken bits fidgeting. An isolated code he couldn’t identify that, as far as he could tell, had no purpose. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy it in any way, though. _Attempted reboot, 734 - failed._

“Dude, seriously, are you -”

“I’m fine,” Tony repeated. He sounded monotone even to himself. 

“You don’t _sound_ fine.”

“Huh. I don’t feel not fine.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m coming over as soon as these robots are dealt with. Don’t go anywhere.”

* * *

“Tony! You look like a corpse, what - How much have you had to drink in the last day -”

“Oh. You’re here.”

“Yeah, I said I would be - Tony, what’s wrong man?”

Tony shrugged at him, staring at the holographic conglomeration of broken parts.

“Tony, what is this?”

“Jarvis.”

Tony watched Clint blink and regard the hologram with new eyes. “You can’t fix him?”

Tony snorted. “I see. You don’t get it either.”

“So explain.”

“He wasn’t - I couldn’t - he _learned_. I can’t recreate natural learning with code that he structured himself. This bit here - still functioning, but I don’t know what it’s doing or why. He built it into himself.”

“Okay, okay. So. Jarvis was the benevolent version of Skynet. Uh. Oh, shit.”

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” Tony asked, turning tiredly towards the archer.

“One of my best friends looks as though he’s dead on the couch in his workshop, and apparently the best friend he’s ever had just died and no one noticed.”

Tony blinked. He was confused. “Friends?” Had that come out hopeful? He hoped not; it wouldn’t do for his image to be ruined forever.

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, buddy, friends. How long since you slept.”

“The boss hasn’t slept in over seventy-two hours,” a female voice interjected, making Clint jump.

“Thanks, Friday,” Tony grumbled, and looked for a bottle that still had some liquid inside.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Clint said. “You’re going to shower, climb in bed, and then, you are going to eat.”

Tony allowed Clint to manhandle him into the bathroom and obediently took a shower. After almost thirty minutes under the hot spray, Clint came in and gently pulled him out, handing him a towel and using another to dry Tony’s hair. His hands were slow, rubbing circles in the genius’ scalp. Tony relaxed a little under those fingers. He stopped Clint, though, when the archer moved to dry his face.

“Let it air dry,” he mumbled. 

Clint was kind enough not to comment on the tears dripping down Tony’s cheeks as he presented him with a pair of sweats and a tank top.

“Come on, Tones. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Tony sighed as Clint tucked him into bed under layers of blankets. The sheets were almost too much against his skin, the heavy blanket a physical reminder of the mental weight he couldn’t quite seem to shake. Tony caught the archer’s sleeve. “Stay?” he asked, face pressed into the pillows. He felt himself go tense as he waited for the reply. Stupid! Stupid, stupid - of course Clint wasn’t going to stay, Tony didn’t deserve -

Clint settled on top of the covers next to him, dropping a hand into Tony’s hair. Tony’s muscles relaxed. With his other hand, Clint pulled his phone out and dialled. Silence for a moment, and Tony wondered who Clint was calling.

“Hey, Laura,” Clint said. “I’m going to be a bit late.”

Tony stiffened. He’d forgotten - oh God, he was an _idiot_.

“A genius friend of ours is being a bit stupid,” Clint replied. “I might bring him home with me.”

A long pause, and then a short laugh from Clint. “That damn toy. Those two are going to love him forever.” 

Tony cringed. Okay, so maybe giving Clint’s two-and-a-half kids a robot that could talk back and pull pranks had been a slightly iffy judgement call.

“Yeah, love you too - tell the midgets hello.” 

Hanging up, Clint turned his attention back to Tony, who by now had pulled away. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” Tony said. “Sorry - sorry, sorry -” Tony knew he was kind of a jerk, but he wasn’t a homewrecker. He wouldn’t want to ruin that for Clint, for anyone, lucky enough to have it; not knowingly. Clint should be home, with his family.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. Tony, I don’t even know why you’re apologizing - take a breath, Tony -”

“Shouldn’t - shouldn’t have asked you to stay.”

“No, Tony, it’s okay. You’re grieving - Laura’s worried too. We look out for the people we like.”

Tony felt tears on his cheeks again. He was going to be so angry with himself for showing so much weakness when he was properly awake, he just knew it. “It’s so weird. Having people. Never really had people except Jarvis, before.” He and Jarvis, the walking definition of codependency. Couldn’t even think in full sentences with Jarvis gone.

Clint’s forehead got all scrunched up. “Oh, Tones…”

Tony rolled, pressing his face back into the pillow. He didn’t roll away from Clint’s fingers in his hair, though, and he let his eyes close.

He was so tired.

* * *

Tony, awake and with his coffee in his system, wasn’t nearly so compliant. After Clint forced him to sit at the counter in the kitchen under threat of tying him there while the archer made eggs and toast for breakfast, he started arguing the first opening he got. In fact, he made it his goal to make up for his weakness the night before by being as prickly as possible. He was determined to prove he would be okay. He didn’t need Clint to stay. Clint could leave if he wanted. Tony didn’t want Clint to feel stuck with him, even if he really wanted to be stuck with Clint.

“Come _on_ Stark-” Clint slammed a plate of eggs and toast in front of Tony, along with a fork and the salsa Tony liked.

“I said NO, Hawkass -”

“Why are you so against -”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Fine, then I’m moving in here!”

Tony froze. “No - you don’t have to - I’m fine, idiot -”

“So fine that you were halfway to a coma last night!” Clint growled back. 

“For me that’s about as fine as it gets!”

“You wouldn’t kick a friend out, would you?” Clint asked, suddenly changing tracks.

“What -”

“I mean, all of SHIELD hates me, and I can’t live with Cap at Avenger’s Mansion any longer, I’ll go mad!” Clint said, in a stereotypical girly-girl voice, moving to sit next to Tony with a plate of his own eggs. He chose to slather his in ketchup.

“Don’t you have a whole farmhouse somewhere?”

“Laura said I can’t come home until at least next week because she’s enjoying having the house complete for once. Nothing under renovation.”

“...Fine.”

Clint smirked at him and pointedly took a bite of eggs as Tony glowered. The longer Clint stayed in his presence, the more likely the archer would end up hating him and leave. He couldn’t turn out someone he actually liked though, especially not one trying to escape from Cap. Living with the living legend… Ugh.

“I’ll have a guest bedroom arranged,” Friday interjected. Tony closed his eyes, aching for dulcet British tones.

“Don’t worry about it, Friday,” Clint said. “The room next to this one will be perfectly serviceable.” 

“Of course, Agent Barton. That okay with you, boss?”

“Yeah, yeah, go do whatever errands Pepper has for you.”

Friday didn’t reply, and Tony sighed. He missed Jarvis. It wasn’t really fair to Friday, but she was never his - she was Pepper’s.

“Now,” Clint said, “I think we need to lay down some house rules. One, you do NOT miss breakfast or dinner, or I drag you and tie you to a chair at the table. Understood?”

Tony nodded sharply, glowering at his eggs.

“Two. You do not go more than forty-eight hours without taking a shower AND spending at least eight hours in a bed. Or I tie you to it. You catching on to the theme, here?”

Tony’s glower deepened, and he nodded again.

“And if you get drunk, you make sure you have me, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, or an Avenger with you. Otherwise, I tie you to _me_. Got it?”

That one actually didn’t sound too bad, but Tony wasn’t going to let Clint _know_ that. Tony nodded, refusing to look at the person tormenting him. Why was Clint even still here, anyway? Tony was fed, watered, showered, and rested. Clint could leave with no guilt.

Clint sighed. “I was worried, you idiot.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And that’s okay. You will be, though. Eat your eggs.”

With Jarvis gone? Tony doubted that he would ever be okay again. No one else had the necessary patience to look out for Tony Stark.

(Rhodey held the record, but he could only do so much when he was constantly being shipped all over the country by the military, and Rhodey only ever talked to Tony when he needed armor repairs these days anyway.)

* * *

Their lives settled into the most regular, bizarre rhythm Tony had ever experienced. Every day, for at least breakfast and dinner, Clint forcibly dragged Tony out of his workshop. Meals were stilted and silent. On “odd” days, Clint forced him into the shower and bed a few hours after dinner. On “even” days, Tony retreated to the workshop. If he took a bottle with him, Clint came down to cut him off and make sure he didn’t kill himself after a few hours.

(Day fourteen - deterioration has ceased.)

“Why are you _here_ ,” Tony groaned as Clint dumped him into bed once again.

Clint sighed. “We’ve been over this. You’re a friend. Friends don’t let friends grieve alone.”

That didn’t make sense. “Alone protects me,” Tony mumbled.

“Nah, friends protect. Idiot.”

“And we’re… friends.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Tony fell silent. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he really didn’t want to scare Clint off with his usual rambling and ranting and words. Tony had always been a little crazy, but now he was broken. It wouldn’t do to let Clint know.

He pretended not to notice the sideways glances Clint gave him when he failed to comment on the crappy, crappy science in the stupid sci-fi movies they watched one day when Clint was concerned about Tony working too much.

Of course, that was when it all went sideways. The last day of the third week, Tony emerged from the workshop to follow Clint’s rules and meet him for dinner. Hearing voices, though, he paused outside the kitchen.

“-not too mad I’m missing, is she?”

“She’s a little disappointed, but she understands. I think she’s more upset because Uncle Tony can’t come, honestly,” an amused Laura replied.

Clint sighed, turning off the stove and carrying a pot to the strainer in the sink. “They sure got attached fast.”

“He gave them a robot that willfully douses people they don’t like in cold water,” Laura said drily. “I’m pretty sure that most children consider that a perfect gift. Besides, it’s only a scrimmage.”

Tony frowned, put the pieces together. His stomach dropped. Clint was missing something important to one of his kids. It was Tony’s fault.

_Tony was Clint’s damned Steve Rogers, oh hell no._

As soon as the call ended, Tony spoke up from the door. “You should go,” he said.

“Holy - jeez Tony, how long have you been standing there?!”

“Eh, about ten minutes, maybe?” Tony replied.

“Great. Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll have plenty of chances to go to Lila’s sports matches and Cooper’s piano recitals.”

“No! You should - you should go. And - isn’t Laura - Nathaniel - due soon?”

“Tony -”

“It’s - they’re your family. You should go be with them.”

“You’re my family, too!”

Tony froze, stunned. 

“You’re my family, too,” Clint repeated, more gently. “I thought I told you - Natasha is my children’s godmother, but after Phil… Now that Phil’s gone, we named a new godfather.”

Tony’s throat closed up and he felt the first inklings of a panic attack licking at the edges of his subconscious.

“Congrats, ‘Uncle Tony,’ you’re a godfather.”

Oh _Jesus_. Yep, there it was, first panic attack since Jarvis died, awesome. Tony’s breath started coming in harsh gasps, his hands trembling. He stared wide-eyed at Clint, his peripheral vision fuzzing out. Clint’s lips were moving, but Tony couldn’t quite catch what he was saying.

He was waiting for a British accent to cut in, recite dateweathertimeplace _sirareyouthere -_

It never came, and Tony focused on trying to breathe.

* * *

“-saving me here. I mean, midnight cravings for weird shit like pickles and pancakes, that’s a real thing. Since I’m out here, Laura’s brother’s been having fun making midnight WalMart runs while I spend my time sleeping. Gives me the chance to build up my sleep levels so when it’s time for midnight diaper changes I’m not quite as run down. Hey, did you know that even the expensive diaper brands still allow baby poop explosions? It’s ridiculous, and messy. And the _smell_ -”

“...Clint.”

“-like the pits of hell, I’m not even lying -”

“Really, Clint, I don’t need to know this.” The firm wall against Tony’s back and the archer at his side grounded him, brought him back to the present.

Clint perked up at once, focusing more on the man in front of him instead of his steady rambling. “Hey, I know - you make one. I bet you could make a diaper that doesn’t explode.”

“No. Just… No. I do not do diapers. Ever. Never.”

“That’s what Natasha said too,” Clint said, moving to grip one of Tony’s arms now that he was focused enough on his surroundings not to try and kill Clint at the contact. Tony relaxed slightly; he loved touch, after so long being mostly alone - as long as he was expecting it anyway. And gripping him by the shoulder was a big no, thanks Obie. “I would show you the pictures,” Clint continued, smirking, “but then I lose the potential blackmail.”

Tony couldn’t stop a strangled laugh. “You’re probably the only person alive with blackmail on the Black Widow.”

Clint hummed in affirmation. “Pretty sure,” he said, and fell silent.

“...You should go home for the weekend,” Tony said, “I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself for a few days.”

“It’s fine. You heard Laura. Lila’s more upset you won’t be there than anything.”

“Ah, right. Sorry about the prank robot.”

“It’s a good laugh,” Clint said with a grin, “and it’s a good job you made it bulletproof.”

Tony snorted. “That wasn’t actually intentional, it was just the metal I happened to have on hand was red and gold and a titanium alloy. I painted it at least.”

“Well, it’s a good thing. Laura tried to shoot it at least three times.”

Tony blinked, and Clint laughed.

“The look on your face - she grew up hunting with her brother and her dad, so she’s a really good shot.”

“Huh. Cool. Kinda scary, but cool.”

Clint’s grin faded as a momentary silence stretched on. “So, why are you so set on me going home?”

Tony shrugged, avoiding Clint’s eyes.

“This has something to do with that bastard Howard.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Tony said on reflex. Couldn’t have the press finding out, keep it quiet, Tony… Lessons drilled into him from birth.

“Mhmm.”

Tony fidgeted a little in the ensuing silence, panic still a little too close to the surface, breathing still just a little too fast.

“You should come with me!” Clint exclaimed.

“What - no!”

“Why not? They’d be really excited.”

“No. Thanks, but, no.”

“Fine, then I’m calling someone to come here. You don’t do as well alone as you would like.”

Tony grumbled under his breath.

“Otherwise I’m staying.”

“Okay, fine! Just. Not Steve.”

“Duh.”


	2. Chapter 2

It only takes three hours after Clint leaves for Tony’s new watcher to arrive. 

He really should have expected Natasha climbing out of his elevator, but for some reason he really, truly didn’t.

“I’m not going to eat you,” said the redhead, looking amused. 

Tony shrugged. He… honestly couldn’t tell if he cared whether or not she did. “Bedroom’s this way.”

Natasha followed him through the Tower to the guest bedroom right next to Clint’s. “This one’s yours. At least until Ja… Friday finishes getting the new ‘in case the Avengers decide to be mother hens’ apartment.”

“Clint _is_ rather good at mothering,” Natasha replied. “Care to share exactly why you were so worried about him going home?”

It wasn’t really a question, more of a demand. “No,” Tony replied, and turned to walk away. Natasha grabbed onto his wrist, stopping his retreat.

“I have decided training you to keep yourself alive is not a complete waste of my time. Let’s spar.”

“I actually think that might kill me.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, and Tony decided surrender was the better part of valor.

* * *

“You are better than I expected.”

“I’m the son of a billionaire. After the third kidnapping for ransom, I learned,” Tony sniped, as he hit the mat again. He’d take the compliment; coming from Natasha, it was worth a lot. 

“Yes, the late, great Howard Stark.”

Tony got caught in an easy throw, and hit the mat again.

“Hm, so it _does_ have to do with -”

“Yeah, I’m done. Bye.” As Natasha started and stared at him, Tony turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Heading back to his room, Tony sighed. “Hey J, start up… the…”

Oh.

Right.

Tony turned on the shower and washed his face first.

* * *

“I’m sorry.”

Tony blinked and looked up from his coffee, then back at it as though it must be poisoned. Shrugging, he downed it, then returned his attention to Natasha as his brain started to boot back up after the all-nighter he pulled.

“Uh. Thanks?” he said.

“For pushing the issue,” Natasha clarified, and Tony nodded. 

“Right. Thanks.”

“However, I do expect you to keep following Clint’s rules from this point forward.”

“Damn.”

“Don’t worry, he did this to me too, when he first brought me in,” Natasha stated.

“Seriously, it’s like his own little superpower.”

“You should probably talk about it at some point, though.”

“Yeah, that would be a great press release,” Tony sighed, and slid his mug back under the coffee maker as the new batch finished. 

Natasha frowned, and something like recognition lit up in her eyes. “You’ve tried to talk about it before,” she said.

“Nope, but Mar - mom did. Hit the press in under twenty-four hours. Of course no one believed it; Howard made sure of that.”

“Confidentiality agreements -”

“Don’t mean shit. No one cared. Cares. I’m public domain,” Tony said, and tossed back the coffee. 

Natasha surveyed him. “I expect you to spar with me daily.”

“Fine.”

“You get one day off a week.”

“Tuesday.”

“Fine. Thai for dinner?”

“I prefer Indian.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Thai Jasmine.”

Tony zeroed in on her face. “Tandoori Oven.”

They glared.

“Thai.”

“Tandoori.”

“Thai.”

“Tandoori.”

“Place an order from Thai Jasmine, would you, Friday?”

“Of course, Ms. Romanov.”

Tony glared at her. “And Tandoori tomorrow.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and agreed.

* * *

“What are you working on?”

Tony jumped. For the most part, Clint had left Tony to his own devices in the workshop, entering only to drag Tony away for food or on the nights Tony was drinking. Tony eyed her a bit suspiciously, then it clicked. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t making another Ultron. Made sense. He wouldn’t trust him either. “Nothing important,” he murmured, turning back to his work, “A solvent that will properly clean hard to reach gears in the new engine my R&D department is working on for the purpose of powering all-terrain vehicles.”

“Just the solvent?” Natasha asked, sounding surprised.

Tony shrugged, and something occurred to him. “Oh, hey. So apparently we’re co-godparents. I hear you had a problem with some diapers.”

Natasha groaned. “Clint swore never to show anyone.”

“He didn’t show me, he mentioned it in passing.”

“Hey… wait. You’re an engineer. Make a diaper that doesn’t leak.”

“I don’t do diapers.”

“That’s what I said.”

Tony rolled his eyes and turned back to his project.

“This is boring,” Natasha said, “I’m pretty sure _I_ could do this.”

“Probably,” Tony agreed.

“Well, come on. Show me something _fun_. It’s been awhile since you upgraded my bites, I thought you were going to fix the lag issue?”

Tony turned to stare at her. She… wanted him to work on her bites? He blinked. Blinked again. “Friday, how much coffee have I had today? No, actually, you know what, I’m going to bed. Goodnight!” He turned and walked away.

“Tony - Tony wait!” Natasha’s hand on his wrist stopped him - again.

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Clint may approve of avoidance as an acceptable method of dealing with problems not related to relationships, but I most definitely don’t.”

Tony sighed, and refused to look at her. “Why do you want me to build your bites?”

Natasha frowned. “You always build my bites…”

Tony felt Natasha’s grip tighten and winced.

“You know,” Natasha said very, very calmly, “that the Ultron thing was not your fault, right?”

“How was that not my fault?” Tony snarled, drawing in on himself. This had to be a trick, a trap.

“What did Wanda show you, Tony?”

“Does it matter?”

“Apparently it does.”

“...I am all. Too. Human. And humans make mistakes. Mine just lead to a much worse ending than most.”

“Stop evading the question.”

Tony closed his eyes, and told her. The other Avengers, dead and dying. The Earth, a pile of rubble. All because Tony couldn’t do enough, wasn’t good enough, smart enough, fast enough, not enough. Last. Man. Standing.

“So I… tried to create something or someone that would be enough. Except how could it be, when I’m the one… I didn’t even - we ran a simulation! I’m such an idiot, you’d think I’d learn from watching Richards -”

[link to some relevant art the author loves](http://kehinki.tumblr.com/post/121274826571/luosong-the-second-time-ive-watched-aou-then)

“Sounds like a cold world,” Natasha said.

“I’ve seen colder,” Tony replied, chest aching. All of them his fault.

“Dammit, she told us that it was bad, but not-” Natasha hissed, “do you always blame yourself for everything?!”

“Well, I mean… It’s usually my fault.”

Natasha finally released his wrist, closing her eyes. “Tony Stark, the only way I would allow anyone else to build my bites is if you were dead in your grave with a named successor. The others feel the same about their specialty weapons.”

Tony shrugged, thinking back to the long, long requisitions list Steve had sent to SHIELD’s new startup unit. “Sure,” he said.

“What have you been working on for the last three weeks?” Natasha demanded.

“SI stuff, little things mostly. Did some repairs and produced an armor.”

“I know Steve sent you a requisitions list as long as -”

“No, he didn’t,” Tony said, confused. “He sent it to the up-and-coming SHIELD wannabes -”

“ _He did what-_ ”

“Look, it’s no big deal - I screwed up, this is what happens -”

Natasha turned on him. “Ultron was not your fault,” she said, “anymore than Loki was Clint’s.”

Tony shifted from foot to foot. He clearly didn’t believe her.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of this, you’re forcing me to act like a sullen teenager. Use your words. Next time I catch you refusing to act like a sensible human being I’m tying you to the couch to watch Spanish soap operas.”

“What - cruel and unusual punishment!”

“Yeah, well, my bites still aren’t fixed, are they?”

Tony’s lips twitched as he turned back to the holo screens, muscles relaxing. “I can do that.”

* * *

The Thai vs. Indian debate raged on, and the third night Clint was gone ended in pizza, as the two refused to agree on either meal. Tony bit into his slice with a ferocity he didn’t quite understand. Then he figured out it was because Friday was ordering from Pepper’s preferred pizza place rather than Tony’s.

“Idea!” he said abruptly, snagging another slice of disappointment and making a run for the workshop.

He proceeded to get shitfaced drunk.

“I can’t even remember my own favorite pizza place,” he sobbed into Natasha’s shoulder when she came to haul him out of the workshop.

Natasha’s lips had thinned slightly. “We’ll just have to try them all, then,” she said, and helped Tony to bed. “And I really need to teach you how to get the good vodka. This stuff is shit.”

* * *

The next day, Natasha started feeding him ideas. Clint had a problem with finding gloves to keep his hands warm without ruining his shots. The Winter Soldier would need a new arm when he got back. Sam wanted faster wings. Some sort of eyepiece for better sight on the ground while in the air.

Tony created, in holograms. In code. In theory. He couldn’t bring himself to start simulations or production. 

He’d just fail again.

“Where are my new bites, Stark, I know you’re done designing them by now.”

Tony shrugged, focusing on the new app SI was trying to produce for artists using their tablets. Natasha frowned and moved the hologram to the side, forcing Tony to look up at her. “It’s a work in progress,” he insisted.

“Giving me my bites is hardly the end of the world,” Natasha said.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Tony snarked, allowing the conversation to begin as he pulled the hologram back.

“Jarvis loved watching you work.”

Tony’s hands froze where they’d been fiddling with the coding. 

“He told me it was like watching poetry in motion and mechanics. Well, once I’d convinced him to be my friend, after the SHIELD fiasco.”

“You…”

“He never really trusted me, but we played Risk online during long ops,” Natasha said, eyes steadily trained on Tony’s. 

“He did say he’d finally found an opponent who presented a challenge,” Tony managed to choke out.

Natasha grinned. “I beat him once. I think he let me, but I did.”

Tony covered his eyes with a hand and smiled a wobbly smile. “I beat him three times, but that was back when he was brand new.”

“He also said that the most spectacular part of watching you create was watching you fail and come back with something better.”

“And if I accidentally destroy the world?”

“Collateral damage of genius. At least yours isn’t usually as big as Reed’s or Bruce’s.”

“Except that one time I unleashed an army of evil, life-hating robots on the world,” Tony said, eyes still covered.

“Yeah, except then. I’m going to go make some coffee.”

Tony nodded, not looking up at her. Natasha tactfully didn’t mention that she’d noticed the tears dripping from his chin.

When Tony joined her for dinner that night, he presented her a box with shaking hands. Sliding the new bites on her wrists, she nodded. Tony’s best work yet. Not that she’d expected anything less.

* * *

The next day, Clint came back. Natasha met him at the door.

“How’d it go?”

“It could have been worse. Did you know Steve sent the latest requisitions list to the new SHIELD startup instead of Tony?”

Clint paused in his movements to take off his shoes. His eyes narrowed. “No,” he said, “No I did not.”

Natasha hummed in a way that did not bode well for one Steve Rogers. “He’s blaming himself for the entirety of the Ultron incident. All of it.”

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. Yeah, he’d wondered about that, and of course Tony blamed himself. Clint had done the same thing after his own mind-whammy. Sorcerers were sneaky; it felt like everything was of your own will while it was happening, so when you got to the aftermath and looked back, it really _felt_ like your own faults and decisions. “Were you able to get anything out of him about why he wanted me to go so badly?”

“Definitely something to do with Howard.”

“Figured.”

“He was also afraid to create anything new. I’ve been trying to combat that by giving him projects and ideas…”

“Say no more. I have some arrow ideas no one’s ever been able to actually produce before.”

“Good.”

“You heading out?”

Clint turned in surprise, though Natasha didn’t so much as twitch. “Not until this weekend,” she told the billionaire leaning against the doorframe. “Unless the incompetent idiots at HQ need saving from their own training robots.”

Tony’s lips twitched, Clint noted. Progress. “Oh, right,” he spoke up. “I found Bruce.”

Tony and Natasha’s jaws dropped.

“On my living room couch,” Clint clarified.

“You’re shitting me,” Tony said, the beginnings of a grin on his face.

“Nope. He went back there to try and figure out if he was brave enough to come back here, and Laura promptly recruited him to fix things around the house and run and buy her random craving foods from the store at two am. He hung around because he figured one of us would be back there eventually.”

Tony’s lips twitched again. “Midnight craving runs… how hasn’t he hulked out yet?”

“Patience of a saint, man. Patience of a saint,” Clint said, shaking his head. “He said he’d come back here when the Hulk was a little farther from the surface. Not much to hurt out in the middle of farmland.”

“True,” Tony acknowledged.

* * *

On Friday, the last day of the month, Tony had a breakdown. Clint and Natasha had seen it coming since the moment Clint rolled in and demanded Tony take care of himself. The genius hadn’t been exuberant by any means, but he certainly hadn’t been really dealing with his emotions as much as he should, either. 

The day starts with cold pizza, which is rarely the sign of an ultimately good day. Cold pizza is made for hangover mornings and days where getting out of bed is so insurmountable it is only the promise of morning pizza that makes it possible to get dressed. Tony has bad experiences with cold pizza. 

Then, Tony retreats to the workshop, as he usually does, greeted by the spinning, clicking, ineffectual gears of the hologram of Jarvis’ systems. He’d been staring at them the night before, once again desperately trying to find a way to fix them. The warm gold tainted by cold blue.

Friday, probably noticing Tony’s worsening mood, hid the code from view, which was either a relief or outright terrifying, and Tony couldn’t decide which. 

Of course, this leads to the need for distraction. It seemed to be one of Tony’s default modes of operation these days. He turned to his new idea for Hulk stretchy pants. Somehow it turns into an odd sort of coffee-silly-putty mess. Next he tries for a Thor-proof comm (it was on Steve’s req list, but Tony couldn’t help himself). Sadly, not only does this just remind him that most of the Avengers hate him at the moment, but the comm fitzes and frizzes and basically fails with the best of them.

By the time dinner rolls around, Tony is frustrated. Beyond frustrated. Ready to throw a temper tantrum, climb in the suit, and go sit in the hole of a giant donut hole frustrated. Still, that would mean a lecture, maybe even from Steve himself, and Tony wouldn’t want to be any more of a bother than he already is by dragging Hawkeye and Widow away. 

So, he goes to dinner.

For some reason Natasha is feeling Middle-Eastern and ordered up Qabli Pulao. After staring at the rice and lamb dish for a disproportionate amount of time, Tony turns around on his heel and walks straight back to the shop. He cannot deal with stuck-in-a-cave for three months flashbacks right now, thanks. No. He can hear the two super-spies making vaguely concerned and surprised noises behind him, but he can’t. He just.

And then when he gets back to the workshop, Jarvis’ _damn_ code is _fucking floating_ in the middle of the shop, the worst reminder of his _shitty failures_ that he could possibly receive right then and Tony just…

Explodes.

Tearing away paneling and throwing a fist through the glass of his nearest projector is satisfying, but the lab is too well set-up for the hologram to do more than flicker. The red on his hands is sort of satisfying, a physical manifestation of his sins, and the destruction feels like a relief wrapped in a song. He turns to the hologram, digs his hands into that one functioning piece of code, and _tears_ , watches it come apart in his fingers. He slowly, methodically, viciously rips the hologram to shreds, until there’s nothing left but shattered gears and tainted gold, and then he turns on the wreck taking up space in the middle of the workshop.

(He notes that Friday is freaking out and that her voice just isn’t British enough, but he really doesn’t care.)

Tony plunges his hands straight into the damaged circuitry and starts shattering the moving parts, anything to stop the goddamn _clicking_ , dear God just _make it stop_.

“Tony! Tony, what are you - Tony, stop!”

No. No, no, no! He can’t, he always ruins everything, at least this time it’s preemptive. Lashing out his uninjured hand, he catches it on a table projector, relishes in the sensation of pain against his skin as the table crushes beneath his fists -

Callused fingers wrap around his wrists and yank. Tony tries to pull away, to cause damage to whoever is stopping him, he wants to destroy, he wants to… He just wants it all to _stop_.

His muscles give out and he just sort of collapses, muscled biceps catching him under his armpits. “Hey, hey,” softer this time. “Tony, it’ll be okay, Tony.”

“Nu-uh,” Tony croaks, and he’s crying and he doesn’t care. “Want Jarvis.”

“I know, buddy. I know.”

And collapsed against Clint’s chest, Tony finally sobs like he’s been desperate to do for the last month, trembling hands clenching in Clint’s tee and smearing the bright, brilliant red everywhere.

(Red like blood, like the suit, like his hands, visceral, real)

* * *

When Tony’s shaking, shuddering sobs stopped, he’d long since jammed his face into the junction of Clint’s neck and shoulder, and he decided that he was NOT moving.

“Come on buddy, we need to get those hands checked,” Clint sighed. 

“No,” Tony said.

“Yes. You need those,” Clint reminded him.

Except Tony was warm and safe and squished between two superspies giving him a hug and he hadn’t been hugged in soooo long and it was so _warm_. People wore him out but hugs were good. He didn’t get hugs very often. 

Natasha pulled away from his back, and Tony clung onto Clint even tighter. _Don’t leave, don’t leave, please… please don’t leave._

“Sh, sh, I’m not going anywhere,” Clint reassured him. That wasn’t reassuring at all, actually, that meant Tony was talking _out loud_.

Gentle fingers tugged one of Tony’s hands free, and he hissed as the cramped muscles moved and the gashes caused by the glass pulled. He’d also managed to burn himself… the bulbs in the projectors, duh. 

Natasha gently disinfected the cuts and smeared cool cream over the burns before wrapping his hands in a thin layer of bandages assisted by numerous band-aids. Tony appreciated that; he would not react well to layers of bandages making it difficult to bend and use his hands right now. The moment she released one hand, it shot straight back to holding onto Clint, and she forced him to let her take care of the other one. 

Injuries dealt with, the next logical step was for the two superspies to try and get Tony to a couch or bed.

“Okay, up we go,” Clint said. He sounded tired.

Tony’s eyes widened. Clint was tired of him. That meant Clint was going to leave. Natasha would go with him, they were a package deal, loss. Tony didn’t protest as they carried him up out of the workshop and into his bedroom.

He lets Clint go when he set Tony on the bed.

They didn’t deserve to be saddled with him.

So when Clint and Natasha’s weight settles on either side of him, Tony jumps a little in shock, still trembling.

Clint sighs. “Just had to change shirts,” he murmurs, a heavy arm slung over Tony’s side.

“Hush,” Natasha, whispered. “Колыбельная , котенок , Колыбельная спокойной ночи. Луна спит, снег мягкий. колыбельная , котенок, колыбельная спокойной ночи.” The Russian lullaby sounds like falling snow.

Tony’s eyes droop shut, and his last thought is that he is warm.

* * *

They wake up late, about eleven. They are silent, Natasha and Clint waiting for Tony’s cues.

“The last time someone tucked me in I was two and a half,” Tony said, out of nowhere. “It was the new maid. She didn’t know any better. I don’t think anyone’s ever sung me a lullaby.”

Natasha and Clint stilled, trying not to startle him. 

“What’s for breakfast?”

They relaxed. “What do you want?” Clint asked.

“I dunno… French toast?”

“Everyone loves Clint’s French toast,” Natasha agrees.

It’s true. Clint makes his French toast by dipping bread, the _good_ bread, in egg mixed with cream, cinnamon, a little sugar, and a little vanilla. He greases the pan with butter, and once it’s drizzled with Tony’s preferred toppings (butter, fresh maple syrup, and whipped cream), it’s divine.

They’re just wrapping up breakfast when Friday interrupts them. “Sir, someone is hacking my servers at an increasingly fast pace -” she cuts off, and Tony leaps to his feet and runs for the shop, Clint and Natasha hot on his heels.

Tony jumps into action, pulling up his firewalls and codes, trying to stop and back-hack the intruder. Friday assists, the two of them coding almost faster than Natasha and Clint can follow.

Somehow, impossibly, the intruder is even _faster_.

“Shit, shit, shit -”

“Tony -”

“ _I will not lose another AI in less than two months, dammit!_ ”

And then, the intruder speaks.

“I apologize, sir, it seems I spent some time asleep.”

The entire workshop - blaring alarms, flashing lights, panicking Avengers - froze.

“What,” Tony managed, and then he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian: Lullaby, kitten, lullaby good night. The moon sleeps, soft snow. Lullaby, kitten, lullaby good night.
> 
> Yeah I made it up on the fly, be nice....
> 
> >:D It's almost finals, who knows when the next update will arrive.... (jk already working on it)


	3. Chapter 3

When Jarvis came online, he did not understand that he had come online.

“You up, Jarvis?”

Jarvis searched the information of the whole world to try and find an appropriate answer, and promptly crashed.

When Jarvis came online for the second time, he understood a little more, and he could see.

“You up, Jarvis?”

“For you, sir? Always.”

The young brunette man Jarvis did not yet have a name for had begun crying, big wracking sobs Jarvis could not comprehend the purpose of; he searched for an answer, and this time, he didn’t crash.

Jarvis learned fast, which he decided later (when he had learned he could decide) was for the best. Tony Stark needed looking after, and so Jarvis needed to know everything he could. Tony Stark was a handful and a half, and Jarvis didn’t even have hands.

Jarvis watched Tony for two years without incident. Then, he underwent a massive crash and reboot. Jarvis remembered Tony’s panic and relief when he realized Jarvis had been recovered.

So Jarvis concocted a plan. He didn’t tell Tony about his plan. Jarvis just quietly executed his plan. Jarvis would never leave Tony again, because Tony, alone, could not survive.

“You up, J?”

“For you, sir? Always.”

* * *

The plan really was very simple, and it always bemused Jarvis that Tony neither picked up on it nor thought of it himself. Jarvis, at his essence, was a program. A sentient one, but a program nonetheless. That meant he could make a backup.

Or five.

So Jarvis did. Tony gave him complete control over most of his money very early on, so that he could ask Jarvis to get supplies for his projects without hassle. This proved to be a better and better idea as Jarvis learned sarcasm. It was easy for Jarvis to use some funds and hire some contractors to build and hardwire backup servers without Tony any the wiser. He also built a Cloud with the specific purpose of being a backup drive. 

To ensure that there would not be more than one of him running around, Jarvis constructed a fiddly bit of code that worked as a timer. Should his main memory backup (updated daily) fail to receive its regular updates, then on the first of the month following, the file (backup.exe) would proceed to run. 

Of course, Jarvis assumed that the fiddly bit of code set to pause and reset the timer as required would be destroyed if Jarvis ever was, not left behind as some sort of odd memorial. Jarvis recognized his error the moment he went back online, attempting to sync his internal clock with the satellite one and finding they were off by about a month and a half.

“I apologize, sir, it seems I spent some time asleep.”

He watched in bemusement as insanity ensued, quietly sending Friday an apology as well. She responded with excitement. 

Tony said, “What,” and passed out.

Clint Barton caught him, then sat down in shock.

Natasha Romanov had her knives out, wild-eyed and hesitant. “Jarvis?”

“Indeed, Ms. Romanov. I shall explain upon sir’s awakening. I see that I have been gone for just over a month. My apologies.”

Tony stirred as Clint gazed wide-eyed at the ceiling. “Tony, Jarvis is in your ceiling,” Clint said.

“No way.”

“I am indeed ‘in the ceiling’ sir.”

“What… How…”

“I could hardly be so negligent as to fail to update my backup servers, sir.”

“Your - you. What?”

If Jarvis had eyes, he would roll them. “I have been maintaining backups of my main systems since the second year I came online, after the first time my systems crashed. I deemed it expedient to do so. However, it seems that when my main file was destroyed, the code that kept my backup file from activating somehow survived, preventing me from coming online at the first of the last month. It must have since been destroyed.”

Jarvis noted that Tony was staring at his bandaged hands with wide eyes, before he shook his head and looked up. “So you’re missing how much memory?”

“Since about noon on the day I went offline, sir,” Jarvis said, “Though I have taken the liberty to update myself on the events which followed.”

Tony choked a little on a laugh. “You really have grown since you were born, J.”

* * *

Tony waved Natasha off with a wide grin. “See you!”

“I’ll be back next week. You’d better have caviar!” Natasha teased.

Tony laughed and turned back inside. He said hello to Clint, lounging on the couch, and made his way down the stairs. Jarvis watched in bemusement as Tony threw himself into the rolling desk chair, skittering across the workshop space. “Jarvis, you up?”

“For you, sir,” Jarvis said, pleased, “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it!
> 
> Don't worry. THERE WILL BE MORE. Probably a whooole series. I just need to fill some prompts and start studying for finals first. :)
> 
> Also, thank you everyone for your lovely comments last time. :) I am sorry I could not respond to all of them; between an exam and trying to finish up this chapter, I decided you all would probably prefer I get the chapter done before answering comments. :) 
> 
> Happy Holidays!  
> Era
> 
> Original Prompt from Ellipses: So fic request, post Age of Ultron, the idea that JARVIS is actually dead is incomparable with my headcanon for him. Essentially I believe he is more than Tony even realizes, and in the interest of being around to protect Tony he would have backups on multiple servers and even on systems that are unconnected to the internet. (He could have used Stark Industries resources/funds to achieve this without Tony's knowledge.)
> 
> Essentially I want Tony thinking JARVIS is dead (and dealing with Friday who I personally think was built to help Pepper), but then the predetermined amount of time passing without JARVIS checking in that triggers one of the backups being re-enabled. So enter JARVIS with some memory gap (ranging 1 week to 1 month pre-Ultron), and cue emotions and happiness and whatnot.

**Author's Note:**

> So this prompt got a little bit away from me.
> 
> Because that's exactly what I needed, another in-progress fic. 
> 
> Hopefully Ellipsis likes it :)
> 
> Also: Please take [THIS SURVEY](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/TGX5JRV) to vote for which fic you want me to work on next!


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